


happy!rom

by toomuchsky



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:52:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1802677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchsky/pseuds/toomuchsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>hell yeah hell fucking yeah (if you're wondering about any terms within this drabble i'd be happy to answer your questions!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	happy!rom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shingekinokillme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shingekinokillme/gifts).



> steph challenged me to write a happy!rom drabble and like a month later, here it is.

“You literally have the worst taste in music.”

I smiled, rolling my eyes under my sunglasses, hair whipping back in the wind. “I’m not the one that listens to fucking _dubstep_ , Rem.”

She laughed, shoving me.

“Oi! I’m driving!” I said, slapping her hands back.

“Well at least I don’t listen to Top 40 shit,” Rem countered.

“Not everything popular is awful, you pretentious asshole.”

She shoved the iced coffee we were sharing in my face. “Yes but the shit we’re listening to right now is.” I took a sip of the coffee with my hands still on the wheel and she took it back. “Let me put my music on,” she whined.

“Driver chooses the music,” I said, turning up the volume on my Top 40 shit so I had to yell even louder over it. “Shotgun shuts the fuck up.”

“Chip?” she offered. I opened my mouth and she fed me one of the salt and vinegar chips we were both partial to, no matter how awful they ended up making your hands afterward. At least this time it was Rem’s hands, not mine. Sucks for her.

 I breathed deeply and smiled. It was a warm summer day and we were going on a roadtrip to see our grandparents. Sunglasses on, wind in our hair, sun on our skin. I love roadtrips.

“How many more hours?” I asked, taking a sharp turn in the highway. Rem was manning the GPS as I drove.

“3 more until we hit the town, and then probably another 2 while we get lost and have to call Ammamma for directions 30 times.”

I laughed. “That was _one_ time Rem, let it go!” Our grandmother had been very understanding and patient as I pretty much lost it over the phone but I was still vaguely mortified by the whole situation.

“Yeah, you’re right, the other times were only you calling about 20 times.”

“You are the worst. Have I mentioned that before? The absolute worst.”

.xXx.

“You are the _worst_ driver in the world. Remind me how you passed your driver’s test,” I screamed, plastered in my seat and clutching at the hand holds so hard even my brown skin turned white. She passed another car while flying down the highway at 30 miles over the speed limit. “I’m going to die,” I muttered to myself. “This is where it ends. Goodbye world.”

I found myself fervently – if sarcastically – praying to God, Vishnu, Ganesh, even Shiva, any deity I could think of and name. _Not today,_ I said to Yamuda, the Hindu god of death, who was probably laughing at me. _Not today._

Heavy metal and screamo music poured out of our car as we zipped past car after car and took sharp turns at breakneck speeds. Rem liked to think she was _so_ punk rock.

“You’re not going to _die_ ,” she laughed, if a little maniacally. “I know what I’m doing.”

.xXx.

“I know what I’m _doing_ ,” I snapped, doing yet _another_ 3 point turn in an abandoned parking lot because we were lost. Again.

I didn’t know what I was doing.

But in reality – “It’s technically _your_ fault; you’re the one with the GPS!” I yelled back at her.

“Fuck this. I’m calling Ammamma.” She pulled out her phone and I reached over and grabbed it from her.

“ _No_. I got this.”

Rem groaned. “No, you _don’t_.”

I pulled over onto the side of the road. “Give me the GPS Jesus Christ. Let me do this.”

“No,” she said petulantly, clutching it to her chest. What a _baby_.

I reached over and tickled her. She shrieked with laughter. “Not fair!” she yelled.

I grinned as I grabbed the GPS. “Remember that part about how we’re twins and I know all your weaknesses?”

“I hate you,” she said, before offering me the last chip and leaning over to see what I was doing on the GPS.

.xXx.

“I _hate_ you,” I grumbled at her smug face as we pulled up into our grandparents’ driveway. Of course she’d gotten us here. While I fumbled with the GPS, she’d just rolled her eyes and pressed some buttons, all while it was still in my hands, and it spat out the route that we were supposed to take – the _actual_ route we were supposed to take. Why she couldn’t have just done that before all of this, I have no idea. Probably because she _sucks_. “You suck,” I told her again, for good measure.

She just grinned at me.

I ignored her as I threw open the door and hopped up the stairs to my grandmother’s house.

“Ammamma!” I yelled as she enveloped me and Rem in a warm, loving hug. As always, she smelled like fresh baked chapatis and sandalwood. My mother smelled of perfume and summer – Ammamma smelled like home.

“Come in, come in.” She ushered us in. “Let me get a look at you.” She looked us over and promptly exclaimed, “What has your mother been _feeding_ you? I swear, you’re skinner than the last time I saw you. You need to eat.” She pulled us into the dining room first, however. “But first, pray to the gods for me.”

Rem rolled her eyes, as I knew she would. “ _Ammamma,_ ” she groaned. “You know I don’t believe in this stuff.”

Ammamma swatted her on the arm. “Pretend for me.” She smirked. “And don’t let the gods hear you saying that.”

We giggled as if we were 5 years old again and put our hands in front of our chests, palms touching. I closed my eyes and prayed to all the gods I could remember the names of – there were thousands of incarnations how am I supposed to know all of them. Ammamma put _khunkhum_ on our foreheads before ushering us to the kitchen.

She shoved us down at the table where the smell of freshly made Indian food was making my mouth water. Rem brushed off the red powder on her forehead as quickly as she could. I kept mine on. Couldn’t hurt. It’s not like we were in public.

We spent the rest of the day stuffing ourselves with homemade food that didn’t even compare to our mother’s sad attempts at cooking Indian food (Rem had hers with milk because she is a loser who cannot stand spicy food while Ammamma and I laughed at her), watching a Telugu movie (Rem rolled her eyes at the whole thing – _“He just punched through a fucking solid brick wall how am I supposed to take this seriously?”_ while Ammamma and I cried tears over the shitty misogynistic romance plot and shushed her because you can’t put _logic_ to a Telugu movie), playing caramboard (Ammamma beat us of course, even when Rem and I teamed up against her), and just generally catching up with our grandmother. We told her about school and Mom and she told us stories about relatives in India and how our uncle was doing (He was having the time of his life in London, apparently.) and about her annoying co-workers and her neighborhood garden project and the computer science classes she was teaching at the local community college.

When we finally left around 8 at night, she packed us up with leftovers from dinner, made us pray one more time for good luck (I prayed to Yamuda again because I knew Rem would have to drive at least once on the way back.), smothered us with kisses and hugs and promises to visit soon, and waved us goodbye.

And I felt like I was leaving home, even though I was going back toward it.

.xXx.

Rem fell asleep on my shoulder as we drove back in the dark, and I smiled.

I guess I _was_ home.


End file.
